


Adamant

by deathwailart



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turians really don't like the cold.  Or cold toes at four in the morning.</p>
<p>Written for the 30 day drabble challenge: adamant</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adamant

She'd forgotten just how cold the Normandy gets at night. Or at least her cabin because she doesn't make a habit of strolling around the Normandy barefoot or in her pyjamas. Or both. Space is always cold, she remembers that from the shuttle that took her away when she sat huddled under a borrowed jacket, shivering until the woman who'd helped her out from the wreckage had put an arm around her, letting Amalia close to warm herself up. She gets cold when she's tired too and right now there's never enough time to sleep and if she thought it would help, she'd ask Chakwas for something to make her sleep but after the sedation when Kenson and her people had turned on her, she doubts they'd work. So she works long hours into the night until someone drops by her cabin, invites her down for poker or finds someone else who can't sleep and eventually passes out at her desk and wakes up drooling by the keyboard. At least she's not having nightmares if she passes out instead of making the effort to sleep.  
  
The nightmares haven't disappeared entirely since Garrus started sleeping in her cabin again but they're less frequent – she's a light sleeper anyway and when she tosses and turns and bumps into Garrus or hears him murmuring to her, it's enough to wake her up while she's still running through shadows. And usually having Garrus in bed with her means she isn't cold.  
  
Usually.  
  
It's probably only been five minutes since she slipped out of bed for some water but her feet feel like two blocks of ice so inches them closer to Garrus because he's _always_ warm, a bit like a furnace and she assumes he's in a deep enough sleep he won't even notice.  
  
"Don't. You. Dare." Garrus' voice is thick with sleep and it makes her jump, heart pounding.  
  
"You know I joked about you being Batman before but that's just creepy," she complains, her cold toes scant inches from his legs.  
  
"I heard you get up," he replies, opening one eye even though she's got the lights down low – never off, she can't deal with pitch black, not after Mindoir, not after being spaced, not now with the nightmares, it sets her anxiety off and usually has her with her head between her knees trying to control her breathing and repeat the mantras that help her settle again. "You okay?" He asks because it's always a good bet to check with her these days.  
  
"Thirsty," she answers with a small smile and because she doesn't want to talk about her nightmares right now, they've talked them to death lately, she wriggles her toes and tries to get closer but Garrus squirms away. "You are the toastiest." She puts on her very best wheedling voice and it does something because Garrus raises himself up on his elbows, both eyes open so she adds a pout.  
  
"Don't you dare."  
  
"You are the toastiest and I will make you purr."  
  
" _No._ "  
  
"What happens if my toes fall off and I can't fight? There won't be a Shepard!"  
  
"If your toes fall off from the cold then I'm pretty sure we're all screwed. Or," Garrus is grinning now, "I guess we take it up with Miranda and complain about the substandard job she did on your toes if a little cold will make them fall off."  
  
"Why aren't _you_ complaining, remember Noveria?"  
  
"That's a different kind of cold. Besides, I'm not the one that stands and pokes at her fish or that little hamster whenever she gets up to get a glass of water. Why don't you put your socks on?"  
  
She rolls her eyes and calls him a jerk which is the worst thing to do because he just laughs and she has to give him a shove, digging her elbow into his side, muttering under her breath. He laughs harder so she does the only thing she can do – taking advantage of his distraction to firmly wedge her admittedly not-as-cold-now toes between his legs.  
  
In years to come, one of her biggest regrets is still going to be not having a recording of the noise he made after that.


End file.
